


finding hope in a heart attack

by dnbroughs



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: ...eddie's dead, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, BUT IT'S CENTRAL TO THE PLOT I SWEAR HE'S MENTIONED TRUST ME, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, bev works with him, bill is a writer, i still can't write dialogue, it's the 40s and there's no homophobia because i said so, poorly written smut aka my specialty, richie is a detective that finds people's soulmates, stan's a lil mean but it's only because he loves his friend and wants the best for him !!!!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 17:49:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dnbroughs/pseuds/dnbroughs
Summary: richie is a soulmate detective who is hired to find bill denbrough, and when he does, maybe, just maybe, he doesn't want to let him go.





	finding hope in a heart attack

**Author's Note:**

> this is the second time uploading this because i’m an awkward noodle and i wasn’t happy with it the first time lol  
> hope you guys enjoy this slightly less mediocre version ! <3

 

Richie Tozier was sure that the world hated him.

The rain bounced against the pavement and an icy wind tore through the busy New York avenue. Richie dodged the taxis and cars that carried disgruntled drivers that wanted to be out of the rain and back home with their families as he held an unwanted newspaper over his head in a futile attempt to keep himself dry. The looming street lamps illuminated the flooded pavement, allowing him to keep his feet dry, yet the same couldn’t be said for his long trench coat which dipped and dragged through the large puddles that littered the concrete. He pushed his way past pedestrians who headed out of the city to turn in for the night, mumbling half hearted apologies as he went. When he made the move from Maine to the big apple, Richie thought it was for the best: the pain of staying in Derry just wasn’t worth it any more. Richie saw him everywhere, in his house, in his car, in the barrens, in his bed…

He’d rather forget everything, the good _and_ the bad, than live with even the ghost of him following him around. No, New York had been good for Richie, rain and all. It had been a distraction.

Sighing in relief, he finally came to the red painted door of the familiar tall office building. Discarding the saturated newspaper in a nearby trash bin, he felt the unmerciful rain soak his face as he ran to the door, the force of his footsteps catapulting rain up his pants, and swung it open, taking cover in the tiled foyer.  
Richie cursed under his breath as he caught sight of his receptionist wrapping herself up in an emerald coat, hat perched on her crimson curls, no time to shake off the rain that dripped from his coat. He tried his best to tread lightly while her back was turned to the stairs on the other side of the tiled atrium, cringing when the rain in his socks squelched inside his worn shoes. Taking the hat from his head, he held it against his chest and started to tiptoe towards the steps. Surprised, he thought he had managed it when he reached the first of the wooden steps. Smirking in victory, he started to ascend the stairs up to his office two at a time when he heard a curt cough from behind him. _Shit fuck bollocks crap wank-_

The involuntary groan rumbled deep in his chest as he closed his eyes and turned around to face the thunderous face of Beverly Marsh.

If there was anyone in this whole city that could chastise Richie, it would be Bev. She, along with Stan and Mike, made the journey from Derry to Brooklyn with him, although their arrivals were slightly staggered. When Stan and Mike finally realised that each other’s names stained the insides of their wrists, they quit their relentless tip toeing around each other and finally got together, much to Richie and Bev’s chagrin, and followed him, moving in together in a small flat not far from where Richie worked. They were a pleasant couple, and Richie could say, hand on heart, that he was happy when they told him. He hadn’t felt happy in a long time, but the news of his oldest friends finally being brought together, by a power greater than all of them, he might add, filled him with a glee that he hadn’t felt in a long time. Bev came next, and while she insists it was because Derry had become a granny trap, Richie is sure she missed them.

It didn’t take long for Bev to accept the receptionist job at his office building. Richie thought it was menial, and way far below Bev’s charms and talents, but she insisted she found some enjoyment in it, and who was Richie to argue. It was times like this, however, that Richie wishes that he and his best friend didn’t work in such close proximity, especially when she had her murder face on. Like right now.  
“Evenin’ Bevvy, glorious night aint it?” He greeted, a smile, too large to seem natural, stretching his face, hoping to charm her with his over exaggerated New Yorker voice. It usually made her laugh, but it seemed to have adverse effects at the present moment, and the dangerous quirk of her eyebrow caused his smile to falter and he wrung his hat out between his hands, gulping. As her face started to turn red, he braced himself for the imminent bollocking he was about to receive.

“I don’t know what the hell you think you’re playing at Tozier! You know for a fact that I have dinner plans with Ben and yet you still have people coming here- at this hour too! I’m not gonna wait around to lock up anymore!” Bev screamed at him, her hands motioning to and fro in a frenzy.  
Bev had found Ben’s name on her hand almost the moment she stepped foot in New York all those years ago. It had taken her months to try and find out who Ben Hanscom was when, finally, she went to the city library to take out a book handily entitled ‘ _How to Find Your Soulmate 101: A Dummies Guide to Soulmate Marks.’_ , and lo and behold, who was working behind the desk but Benjamin Hanscom himself. The rest, as one would say, was history.

Richie’s brain had apparently only just dried out from the rain, and recalled Bev saying something about an anniversary coming up when they went for their monthly theater date, and made to spew out a line of apologies when her words finally caught up with him.  
“Wait, wait? Guests?”  
Bev sighed, resigned to the fact that her telling off had gone way over his head, and fixed the remaining buttons on her coat. “Yeah, some fancy woman with a hat. She said something about looking for a guy so I sent her straight up.”  
Richie stared at her, flabbergasted. He’d gone weeks without a case, and the money from the last one had already started to run out. The thought of going out and doing something again got Richie’s heart racing, and he could almost feel the heat from his small gas heater against his face, finally able to afford firing it up again. He realized that he must of spaced out when Bev waved her glove clad hand in front of his face.  
Quickly snapped out of his reverie, he squashed her in a bone shattering hug and bounded up the stairs, while he called over his shoulder:  
“Go, go and see Benny Boy, I’ll lock up here when I’m done, just leave the key on your desk. Love you Bevvy!”

And with that, Richie opened his office door and slammed it shut.  
“Strange, strange man.” She muttered, shaking her head as she took a large ring of keys from her handbag and placed them on the desk. She wrapped her red, woolen scarf around her neck and stepped into the cold November night, her heels clacking against the deserted pavement as she started to make her way towards home.

  
Richie could hardly contain himself as he ran up the stairs, tripping over his feet more than once in the process, but caught himself, wiping the giddly smile off his face and straightening his suit before grabbing the brass handle of his office door. As soon as he stepped through, Richie was greeted, as expected, with the sight of a woman, slightly younger than himself, sporting a ridiculous blue hat with what looked like half an ostrich hanging over the brim, looking at a picture on his desk. Her tailored black coat and large ring hinted at her wealth and Richie thanked the gods that his next client was loaded.  
She was obviously startled by the slam and she quickly turned around to face him, shifting her weight from one foot to another and awkwardly clearing her throat, offering Richie a sheepish smile.  
“Forgive me, I couldn’t help but look.”  
Draping his coat over the back of his chair, Richie glanced at the dark haired boy in the yellowing photograph, his chest tightening at the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“It’s no bother.” he spoke, unsurprised to find his voice dry and devoid of any real emotion. The old photograph had always caused his heart to feel like it was being squeezed in an iron grip, yet the thought of removing it from his desk made him want to vomit and cry, all at once. It was, he reasoned, much better to feel like shit all the time than to never feel at all.

“Please, sit.” He gestured to an old upholstered chair on the other side of his desk and they both sat at the same time.  
“My name is PI Tozier, but you can call me Richie. And you are..?” He enquired, holding out his hand for the green eyed woman to take. Professionalism had gotten the better of him now, a mechanical second nature, his mind only interested on what Stan duly dubbed, cheating fate.  
“Audra.” she smoothly replied, not seemingly shaken by Richie’s demeanour. He supposed he only seemed cold to those who were familiar with his buoyant, somewhat crude, personality, but as long as he could pass off as austere and somewhat put together, he didn’t mind the teasing from his friends.

“I’m here about a man. I found his name on my hand yesterday.” She continued. Her somewhat haughty accent made Richie feel common in comparison, but he quickly remembered that it was her who needed his help, not the other way around.  
She removed his expensive looking leather glove to present Richie with a name inscribed on the back of her hand, the red etching standing stark against the olive skin of her hand. Richie nodded, scribbling down the name on a stray piece of paper on his desk, trying to ignore the burning hole the woman was boring in the side of his head with her eyes.  
“And you want me to find him? Find out a bit about him?” he asked, still writing as he went through his usual motions, but he could see her eager nod out of the corner of his eye.

“How long do you think you’ll need?”  
“A week, tops.” he replied after weighing up the question. New York was a big city, but it wasn’t impossible to sieve through. “You’ll feel like you’ve known him your whole life by Friday.” he crooned, trying his best not to sound cynical.  
If Richie still believed in love, or even in hope, he’d reckon that the look on Audra’s face was full of both of them. His eyes instinctively flicked back to the old picture on his desk and tried to cast the suffocating feeling of loneliness from his mind. Audra followed his gaze and daintily cleared her throat, offering Richie a small smile when he finally tore his eyes away, and he bypassed the impending awkwardness by pulling a pristinely printed form from his top drawer.  
Placing the paper and a pen in front of the woman, he signified which lines he had to sign and he leaned back in his chair, hands perched under his chin.

“I hate to ruin the mood, but there’s the little issue of payment to sort out.”  
Audra nodded, pushing the completed contract back towards him and crossed one leg over another.

“In the hopes that I don’t insult your intelligence or skills, I don’t wanna pay you up front.”

If Richie thought correctly, he’d say that she was nervous. A giggle bubbled in his throat at the thought and he waved his hand in front of him, knowing the game of other so-called detectives.

“I don’t blame you, doll.” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, shooting her something that resembled a smile.

“Listen, I’ll have this kid found within the week, you won’t even have to wait that long to meet him.”  
Audra let out a shaky breath, running a hand over her meticulously styled skirt as she stood, holding her hand out for Richie to shake again, a thank you in close succession. Taking her cue to leave, she rose from her seat and so did Richie, his gaze following her as she opened the door.  
She was halfway out of it when she turned back around to give him a calculated look.

“I’m putting a lot of trust in you, Mr. Tozier.” she admitted and Richie felt the excitement swell in his chest.

All he could do was offer her a nod, and as the door slammed shut, he finally released the laugh caught in his throat, falling back onto his worn chair with a contented sigh. His eyes roved over his messy scrawl and a satisfied smile made its way onto his lips as he lounged back on his chair, both arms slung behind his head.

“You are about to make me a very happy man, Bill Denbrough. Very happy indeed,”

 

* * *

 

Richie had caught wind of Bill Denbrough far more quickly than he had expected. The first clue of his whereabouts came the next morning whilst having his morning coffee with Bev in their greasy spoon of choice.

“And you think she’s serious?” she chattered absentmindedly as she stirred her coffee with her finger, her eyes lazily roving over the morning newspaper.

“She’s gotta be, Bevvy. I mean, you don't go to a backstreet detective and entertain the thought of paying his stupidly high fee if you're not serious about it.” he replied, offering her a cheeky wink as he took another sip of his coffee, wincing as the cold liquid touched his lips, and he glanced over at Bev’s hand mixing the contents of the mug. He could see the pink imprint of Ben’s name on her wrist, just underneath the sleeve of her sapphire blue cardigan, only fading slightly over the years.

The white scar of a name on the heel of Richie’s hand began to itch. It had been nine years since Eddie had died and there wasn’t a day that went by that Richie didn’t hate himself for it. The image of the crushed car was seared into his mind, a haunting reminder that whatever happiness he had was gone. He can still hear them shouting over one another, the walls shaking as they argued. He could hear the slam of their apartment door echo in his head whenever he closed his eyes. He could hear the rev of the engine and the sickening screech of the tyres on the tarmac road. The feeling of dread in his stomach was as debilitating now as it was that day, and the tears that stung his eyes that day often liked to make a reappearance without his consent.

Richie couldn’t recall much of the short months after the accident. Any recollection of his life after Eddie’s death were whiskey stained and regret ridden. His life generally seemed to be spiralling out of control until his friends staged an intervention. Good, kind Mike who gave him a place to stay and saw the best in him, something most people had decided to ignore; Stan, ever the realist, had been the one to proverbially slap him in the face and forced him to face the world; sweet, manic Bev who taught him how to enjoy life again, and how to ignore pain until you could pretend it didn’t exist. It was Mike who had gotten him the job with his uncle, a PI, back in Maine, typing up files for him. It was Bev who encouraged him to work his way up the ranks until he became one of the best private inspectors in the area, and it was Stan who bought him the bus ticket to New York. They were the Watsons to his Holmes, his partners in crime. He was sure that if there was ever a mark that told you who your platonic soulmate was, all of their names would grace his arm and he would flaunt them proudly, asking every stranger that passed him ‘Have you seen my best friends? Aren’t they wonderful?’.

Richie hadn’t realised that his thumb was rubbing over the silvery scar until Bev’s manicured hand came to rest over his, the feeling enough to pull him back to reality, and the soft smile on her cherry lips was enough to ease the pain, even if it was only slightly. It was times like this when Richie realised how lucky he was to have her working with him. He felt like she was the only person who really understood how he was feeling sometimes. Of course, his parents loved him, and he loved them too, but he can’t help but think that they still think Eddie’s death really was his fault, and besides, what did they know about losing love?

Richie pushed the vicious feelings down, and the sickly stab of jealousy was now replaced by the numbing ache of regret.

And, of course, there was his usual hook-ups, but they only seemed interested in him when their partners were out of town, and even then, they weren’t interested in talking. But Richie, desperate, hopeless Richie, craved to be touched and craved to feel loved, and if the only way to fulfill that craving was to become another notch in a bedpost, so be it. But Bev, Stan and Mike were his _friends._ And Richie needed friends.

He offered her a weak smile as she squeezed his hand. It seemed to be enough to satisfy her as she went back to reading her newspaper while he idly drew patterns in a small pile of spilled salt .

“Hey, Rich?” she asked, looking quizzically at the paper as he hummed in response. “What did you say that guy’s name was?”

“Bill. Bill Denbrough. Why?”

“Because I think I just found him.”

Bev laughed at the sight of Richie’s wide eyes as he scrambled to her side of the table, leaning over her. A long, red nail pointed to an advert for a book shop named _PENNY’S_ and underneath it, in bold letters was Bill’s name, advertising the release of his debut novel or something. Richie could just about hear Bev gushing about some article he had written earlier in the year, but he wasn’t paying attention. A grin broke out on his face as his fingers ghosted over the black and white ink. Bending down to lean his head on Bev’s shoulder, he felt like he’d explode with giddiness.

“Hows about you and me go to a fancy book club tonight, Beverly?”

 

* * *

 

 

 _Penny’s_ was only a five minute walk from the office office, and Bev had jumped at the offer to join Richie on his quest to find out as much about this guy as he could. He could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he leaned against the door to the office block, a cigarette hung comfortably from his fingers as he waited for Bev to finish up whatever she was doing.

Every new case got him hooked and he sometimes joked that he was an information junkie, not getting his fix until he had squeezed every last drop of intel out of whoever his client wanted information on, and this case was no different.  

When he had smoked the last drop of nicotine from his cigarette, he dropped the butt of it onto the sidewalk and crushed it underneath his polished shoe. He considered lighting another one when he heard the click-clack of Bev’s heels on the pavement and he offered her a grin as she approached, her yellow dress hugging her hips as she sauntered over. He whistled as he took her hand, spinning her around, her curled hair bouncing as she laughed.

“Watch out Marilyn. Does Haystack mind me stealing you for the evening?” Richie asked as he linked his arm with hers and started to direct them both into the heart of the New York nightlife, content to make idle chit chat with Bev as they zig zagged between the late night workers finally on their way home, and eager partygoers.

The shop was looking for was not hard to find, as it looked more like a bar than a store that housed books. The grand, brick building was illuminated with a green, flashing sign that signified he had found the right place. From the view of the large window, Richie could already see the generous crowd the event had garnered, with people relaxing on the plush emerald leather of the booths and chatting animatedly by vast shelves of books.

He held the door open for Bev to walk in, and after taking a huge gulp of air, he followed suit and entered the shop.

The walls seemed to vibrate around him with the buzz of conversation, and the intoxicating smell of cigarette smoke and old paper him like a brick wall. The dimly lit shop seemed to stretch for miles, yet remained relatively cosy, with people inhabiting every last inch. The epicentre of the chaos, however, seemed to be a wide, round platform that lay slap bang in the middle of the shop and all the tables and chairs were faced towards it.

Still arm in arm with Bev, he raked his eyes around the shop, trying to gather his bearings and almost yelped in glee as he noticed a makeshift bar in the back corner, and instantly dragged his friend over to it. If he had to listen to some bookish dude drone on and on about his novel for hours, he wasn’t going to do it sober.

After helping Bev up onto a bar stool, he called over the bartender. The man, who looked the most comfortable Richie had seen anyone look behind a bar, made his way over, whipping a tea towel behind his head to lay it on his shoulder.

“What can I do ya for, snookums?” he asked, and by the dim light of the bar he could barely make out the name Victor on his name badge.

“I’ll take a Tom Collins and a Gin Sin.” he called over the loud laughs of the group stood next to them. Victor nodded, producing two glasses and preparing their drinks. With a smile of thanks, Richie handed him the money and handed the tall Gin Sin to Bev. Clinking their glasses together, she smiled at him and took a sip.

“So, I wonder what this Bill looks like.” Richie mused, laughing at Bev as she winced at the strength of the clear drink.

“Do you reckon he’s a looker?” She asked.

He drank his own drink and shrugged, turning around to face the centre of the room when the volume of the voices around him dimmed, and someone stepped onto the platform.

Richie was expecting a dowdy looking man, with glasses more embarrassing than his own, perhaps with a nervous tick and a garish tie, just for fun.

What he wasn’t expecting, however, was _that._

Bill Denbrough was, as Beverly would say, a dreamboat, and she seemed to have the same thought if the low whistle she emitted was anything to go by. His dark slacks hung devilishly to his legs and Richie could see the round swell of muscles in the sleeves of his checked button down. But perhaps the most charming thing about Bill Denbrough was not his copper hair, or even the lonely dimple that burrowed into his left cheek as he offered his audience a warm smile, but his _stutter._

Richie watched him with rapt attention for the entirety of his talk, laughing surreptitiously into his glass whenever the man made a joke, and felt his breath hitch at the raw emotion that traced his words when he read from his book.

Richie was enamoured to say the least, listening wholeheartedly as he read from the book, gripped by his soothing honey and menthol voice. When he had answered his last question and had brought the reading to a close, Richie happily clapped along with the rest of his audience, the immediate post-event chatter slowly pulling him back down to earth and he realised that Bev was still sat next to him, looking at him with unadulterated amusement.Willing away the pink on his cheeks, he tried to play his infatuation off by taking another gulp from his glass, only to find it empty.

“Well, that answers that question.” she drawled from beside him, her eyes filled with mischief as she absently twirled a piece of her hair around her finger, wiggling her eyebrows at Richie.

“What?!” he groaned, his cheeks blushing even darker under Bev’s mirthful gaze. “I know a fine piece of ass when I see one, Marsh.”

Bev shrugged, giving him a look that constituted her need to say ‘true, true’, and took another sip of her drink, her nails drumming softly against the sticky bar top before nudging Richie, nodding her head when he looked up towards Bill who was stood on the platform, packing papers into a bag.

“Go get ‘em, tiger.” she drawled, and all but pushed Richie out of his seat.

It was usually his protocol to ask around his targets for a while, get to know general information before swooping in. But with Bev all but forcing him to make his way over, Richie supposed he could take a break from routine and engage in immediate conversation, at least that way he’d be able to gage Bill’s immediate personality or… something.

The problem with this spontaneous plan, however, was that Richie had no fucking idea what to say to him. So, in true Richie Tozier fashion, he decided to wing it, which seemed like a much better idea twenty paces ago, because now, he was stood in front of a bewildered looking man with no idea what to say.

“Nice book.” he eventually choked out, cringing at himself as soon as the words left his mouth, but the tight embarrassment in his chest was eased with the sound of Bill’s easy laugh.

“Th-thanks, it means a l-lot.” he smiled, offering Richie a hand to shake. “B-bill Denbrough.”

Richie quickly took it, giving it a firm shake.

The air quickly grew awkward between them as Richie loosened his grip on the other’s hand, not entirely sure what to say.

 _Just ask him a question, dumbass,_ the irritating little voice in the back of his head screamed at him, and before he could embarrass himself even further with a question that was either too vague to initiate a stimulating conversation, or way too personal to be deemed polite, Bill decided to speak instead.

“She’s p-pretty.” he said, nodding his head over his shoulder to where Bev sat, who quickly whipped her head from staring at the pair to the blonde haired bartender, hoping that her gaze hadn’t been acknowledged by either boy. Richie followed his line of sight, shooting her an incredulous look before turning back to Bill.

“Oh, Bev?” he asked breezily, considering his response for a moment before nodding his head. “Yeah, she is.”

A drawn out ‘oh’ left Bill’s mouth as his eyes shifted between them. “Are y-you two-?” he started, motioning between them with his hand and Richie barked out a laugh, but quickly sobered when he caught sight of Bill’s confused face.

“No! Er, I mean, no, she met her person years ago.” he trailed off, offering a smile hopefully less awkward than he felt, and gave a cursory nod towards Bill’s hand, quirking his eyebrow. “What about you?”

Richie could see the cogs turning in his head, and he hoped and hoped that he told Richie the name on his wrist. At least that way he could finish this case up as quickly as possible before he chokes on second hand embarrassment. And by the spark in Bill’s eye, he was expecting the name ‘Audra’ to slip past his lips. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was:

“I-I’ve not got one.”

_Shit. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Shit._

With a noncommittal hum and a nod, Richie looked back at Bev over his shoulder, and discretely jerked his head towards the door before turning back to Bill, offering him a small, apologetic smile and a gesture towards his red headed counterpart.

“I should really get her home, or I’ll have her boyfriend on my case.” he quickly rambled and Bill chuckled, giving him an understanding nod, and it only just occurred to Richie that he still had hold of Bill’s hand. He quickly dropped it and shoved his own in his trouser pocket, trying to ignore the way it tingled.

“I’ll see you around?” he asked, flustered, not even waiting for a reply before steering himself towards the door, replacing his hat on his head as he held the door open for Bev before briskly stepping into the crisp New York night.

He didn’t catch Bill’s small ‘What’s your name?’ or even his confused laugh, but as long as Richie could observe from afar from now on, he guessed Bill could learn to live without it.

 

* * *

 

 Richie found, that in the cruel, cruel world of 1940s America, he never got what he wanted, hence him sitting in a downtown coffee shop, regretting every life decision he’s ever made while his _date_ was in the toilet.

The next time he had met Bill Denbrough came all too quickly after their first encounter, in fact, it came approximately thirteen hours later.

Richie had been making his way through the city as he usually would: aimlessly. It was the day of Mike and Stan’s anniversary, and to celebrate, they had invited Richie, Bev and Ben back to their small apartment for a celebration, which would namely include booze, board games, and booze. He had leisurely rolled out of bed a good while after 9am, languidly drank his morning coffee, and was unhurriedly strolling down the street, wondering if he should bring flowers or vodka to their little soiree when he felt the wind being knocked out of him and his boney ass make contact with the hard concrete pavement.

“Shit!” he heard from above him, his head buzzing from his sudden movements, and he inwardly flipped off whatever omnipotent being was looking over him at that moment when a familiar pair of blue eyes flooded his vision. Despite his better judgement, when a strong hand grasped around his own, Richie allowed it to pull him up, but quickly let go once he was upright, brushing the gravel from his pants, trying to ignore Bill’s worried eyes or toothy smile.

“Gheez, you compliment a guys book and then he jumps you. You ever hear of a first date?” Richie tried to joke, using his news reporter voice partly to try and mask the shake in his own, and partly in the hopes it would scare the guy off. It seemed only one of these things happened, as the smile on Bill’s face became even brighter, if that was even possible.

He seemed to consider this, throwing Richie’s words between his hands before shooting him a smirk. “C-coffee?”

“Brown stuff? Made from beans? Keeps me functioning? For a poet laureate, Big Bill, you clearly don’t understand words very well.” Richie tried to bid away the pang in his heart as he screened excuses for the imminent proposal from Bill. His fingers instinctively rubbed over the silvery scar on his hand.

“No, I _mean,_ d-do you wanna get one? N-not as a date or anyth-thing just, coffee.” He hastily added, cheeks turning an adorable shade of pink. The hope in Bill’s eyes caused another jolt to pass through him, but Richie told himself it was the same feeling you got when you pass a particularly forlorn looking puppy in a shop window. Still, as Richie tried to decode the look in Bill’s pet shop eyes, his fingers dug harder into the heel of his hand, trying to will words of work appointments and _maybe later_ s out of his lips, but instead, all he could muster was a traitorous ‘sure’, and the look on Bill’s face was perhaps enough to excuse the guilt rising in his chest.

And lo and behold, here is Richard Tozier, detective extraordinaire and lover of shutting people out, laughing and joking and smiling with a perfect stranger. A stranger, he might add, who already has a soulmate. A soulmate, who’s willing to pay him a shit ton of money for Bill’s birthday, likes, dislikes, and local haunts. Richard Tozier could march right up to Audra right now with all of that information and more. He would, if he was sure that it was a good idea.

Yet, Richie found Bill’s company almost addictive, in the same way you’d follow the sun around a shady park just to feel the warmth on your arms. Their conversation had been light and banterful, and Richie found himself wanting to make bill _laugh,_ like they had know each other for years and this was their well thumbed, well worn routine.

He could hear Mike’s Uncle in his head, briefing him on the rules of being a detective, and rule number one, always, was don’t get involved with your subject. In his young ignorance, Richie had thought it was a stupid rule. Who would bother dating in a world where the person you were destined to spend the rest of your life with was already out there, looking for you? It didn’t make sense to Richie. It’s not that he was _interested_ in Bill, not at all, but you could say he was intrigued. He was so hesitant to show Richie his mark in the first place, and it made Richie think. Maybe he didn’t want to find his person, maybe he already knew who it was and wanted to delay the inevitable.

That seemed like a plausible explanation when Richie asked Bill what he hoped his soulmate was like after their third cup of coffee, and his bright eyes seemed to dim and his whole demeanour became downcast.

“I d-don’t know.” he had stated, dejectedly, ripping up a napkin. “I guess I’d want someone who’s funny, and down to earth, and generous and-” he sighed, “someone who doesn’t even exist.”

His chuckle was as bitter as Richie’s coffee, and he didn’t like the way the scowl sat on Bill’s face, and he wanted it gone.

“Come on, Bill.” he offered, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder before giving it a soothing rub. “Who says someone like that doesn’t exist? From spending the best part of the afternoon with you, I reckon you’re a good guy. You’ve laughed at all of my shitty jokes, at least,” Bill chuckled at this and Richie couldn’t help his grin, “so I reckon fate’s gonna be kind to you.”

Richie’s mind fluttered back to the intimidating woman sat in his office only two days ago, a hoity air about her and wondered if she was good enough for Bill, if she was what Bill even wanted. That was, of course, none of his business, but he couldn’t help but wonder if the apparent heiress was any of those things, and his heart gave an unfamiliar lurch.

His way too sincere confession seemed to pull Bill back into their warped sense of reality, and his eyes lingered on the dull name on Richie’s hand.

“What about you?”

Bill’s touch suddenly burned, and he withdrew his hand as if he had been scalded, pointedly ignoring the hurt look across the other man’s face and shoved his marked hand under the table.

“Let’s just say he’s not around anymore.” And Richie left it at that, sipping on his burnt coffee and wishing something, anything would happen to get rid of this god awful tension he’s created. Bill seemed to have the same thought, and excused himself to go to the toilet.

He hit his head against the table they were sitting at, ignoring the odd looks from the other patrons of the coffee shop and even allowed himself a stangled groan as he tugged at his hair. He was well and truly fucked. He didn’t even like the guy that much, how come he was sat here, having coffee with him?

He didn’t have time to answer, as Bill has shuffled out of the restroom, and he had the decency to spare a glance at his watch before reaching out for his coat.

“I r-really have to be go-oing.” Shooting Richie an apologetic smile, he pulled on his jacket, and Richie had no choice but to follow suit, offering Bill a tight smile, a curt nod and some sort of thank you for something or another, before spinning on his heel and exiting the shop.

Not prepared for the icy blast of wind that hit him, Richie hugged his coat tighter around himself and started to make his way back towards the centre of town in the dull wash of late afternoon when a shout halted his footsteps.

“Wait!” He turned to find Bill rushing from the shop, his movements slowing until he stood almost toe to toe with Richie, bashfully running a hand through his auburn hair. “I don’t know your name.”

It didn’t take Richie long to realise that it was the first time Richie had heard the other man speak without a stammer. He also realised that he stood about half an inch taller than himself, but that didn’t really matter.

“It’s Richie.” he replied, a genuine smile gracing his face, one that Bill eagerly returned.

“I-I guess I’ll see you ar-round, _Richie_.”

And with that, their second meeting had come to an end, and Bill was gone. The gnawing at his stomach seemed to have subsided as he started to make his way towards his destination, but it was only a matter of time before it came back as he realised he really liked the way bill said his name.

 

* * *

 

“Richie this is fucking dangerous!” Stan had all but screamed at him, a fruity concoction in hand, while Mike rubbed circles into his arm in an attempt to calm him down and Ben and Bev watched with rapt attention from over the Scrabble board. He knew that mentioning his ‘sordid tet-e-tet’, as Stan so eloquently dubbed it, with Bill when his latest case was mentioned was a bad idea, but the alcohol running through his veins had other ideas and had all but told his friends everything when Bev asked for an update.

“C’mon, Stan, it’s not as if i’m boning the guy,” Richie remarked, his speech slightly less slurred than before, hoping his characteristic crudeness would remind Stan that Richie was charmingly cheeky, and they could forget the whole thing and go back to spelling out swear words and laughing.

“No Richie, it’s not okay! You can’t go around encouraging this guy, you’re being paid to deliver him to his soulmate for fuck’s sake,” Stan practically spat, and Richie tried his best not to recoil at his friend’s tone.

He knows it takes Stan a lot to put up with his antics, and never minded his deadpan remarks and sarcastic jabs, but whenever there was alcohol involved, Stan could either be affectionate and loving or spit out barbs, like he was doing now.

He knows he’s been careless and perhaps too far on the side of friendly, but it was all for the good of the case, and he has no problem telling Stan so. “How else am I supposed to get to know what the guy likes if I don’t ask him? It’s not like I’m asking him to start a family with me.”

“No,” Stan answers, his voice scarily soft compared to his previous tone, and he seems to visibly give into Mike’s soft touch as his shoulders sag and his eyes turn glassy. “You were supposed to do that with Eddie.”

He froze.

Blood thundered through his body, pounding in his ears and boiling in his veins, and he could barely hear the sharp gasp from Ben and Mike and the outraged ‘Stan!’ that fell from Bev’s mouth. With shaky legs, he stood, gripping onto the dark wood of the dining table as he went. Bev watched him with baited breath, expecting him to return Stan’s comment with one as equally as devastating, but instead watched on as a single tear rolled down Richie’s cheek before he turned towards the door. He looked back at the group, Ben restraining Bev’s arms against her waist, Mike’s eyes apologetic and pleading, and Stan turned away from him, gulping his drink. Richie nodded at them.

“Happy Anniversary.” he congratulated placidly to Mike, his voice just above a whisper, before leaving the flat, slamming the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

_“Come on, Eds-” Richie pleaded, his voice cracking as he clutched Eddie’s hand, trying to pull him back into his arms, sighing in frustration as Eddie ripped his arm away, stalking over to the other side of their cramped bedroom._

_“Don’t fucking call me that, Richie. Not now.” He seethed, his eyes shining with unshed tears as he sat down on the bed, it groaning under the new weight, and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes, Richie’s name just peeking out on his right one. “When were you going to tell me?”_

_Richie hadn’t meant for him to find the eviction letter so soon. He was going to sort it, he almost had. The combined salary of a late night local radio host and a part time mechanic didn’t amount to much, and his inheritance from his grandfather had ran out long ago, meaning they were barely 20 and living hand to mouth. He had been putting in extra shifts, even doing janitorial work at the station during the evenings and teaching piano during the day, but it still wasn’t enough to cover this months rent._

_He didn’t want Eddie to worry. He had enough on his plate with his own job and his mother that Richie had wanted to sort this problem quickly and quietly so that it didn’t even have to worry Eddie. He was almost there._

_Making his way to stand before of Eddie, Richie kneeled in front of him and taking his hands away from his eyes. His cheeks were red, with tears or frustration Richie didn’t know, and his eyes were tired. Rubbing circles into his wrists, he looked into Eddie’s eyes, offering him what he hoped was a comforting smile. “It’s gonna be fine, Eddie. Trust me.”_

_Sighing, Eddie wiggled his arms from Richie’s grip and stood, turning away from him._

_“I-I need some air, Rich.”_

_The crack in his voice broke Richie’s heart, but all he could do was nod dumbly, whispering an ‘okay’ at him, wiping at his own eyes. Eddie took that as his cue to leave, grabbing a sweater before leaving the room, and Richie heard the jingle of keys and the slam of a door before the silence settled in._

_The offending letter lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, and Richie made to pick it up when he heard the rumble of an engine starting. He straightened the letter as the crunch of tarmac under the heavy tyres of the car filled the small space, but his heart stopped and his stomach dropped when a screech and a sickening slam flooded his ears._

_Bolting out of the door, Richie didn’t even give himself time to straighten up his clothes before running out to the street, but was paralyzed by the scene before him._

_He could taste blood and his mind felt like it was melting as Eddie’s car lay in a wrecked lump, crimson painting the street._

_He fell to his knees. A scream caught in his throat. He couldn't feel. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t dare to think about a life without Eddie in it, the love of his life, the only person he ever wanted to spend the rest of his life with, his-_

The shrill ring of the telephone woke Richie from his sleep. It felt like his brain was trying to exit his head by hammering through the top of his skull, and he could feel the salty tracks stuck to his cheeks that signified that he’d been crying. Groaning into his pillow, he let his phone ring out, trying to shake his dream as the events of last night played through his head, the dread that usually consumed him had returning with a vengeance, and Richie wished that he was drunk again. The clock beside his bed told him that it was almost 5pm, and he hadn’t even left his bed. He considered going back to sleep when the phone rang again. He bit back a scream as he rolled out of bed. Deciding that he can’t stay in his apartment anymore, knowing it was only a matter of time before Bev came knocking, he put on his clothes from the day before, not bothering to check if they were creased, and pulled on his leather jacket before leaving his apartment, the phone still ringing in his wake.

He hadn’t walked the familiar route to his usual bar in almost three years, too absorbed by his work and his active means of distraction, but in a bitter way, it almost felt like coming home. The greasy landlord still knew his order, and a neat whiskey was placed in front of his before he was fully sat on the barstool with the promise of many more to follow it. He fumbled in his pocket before pulling out a crisp note and slamming it on the bar top.

He was nursing his second drink when the door opened behind him, but he paid it no notice as he continued to take large sips, not caring in the slightest if anyone saw the tears running down his cheeks. That was until, he heard a voice from behind him.

“R-Richie?”

Spinning around on his barstool, Richie furiously wiped the tears from his face as he offered Bill a saccharinely polite smile, and within a second, Bill had his arms wrapped around Richie’s middle, his face hidden in the crook of Richie’s neck. Frozen, it took him a few seconds to realise what was going on, and Bill perhaps mistook his pregnant pause as something else, because he began to pull away, but Richie clung to him, his hands gripping his shirt in a vice like hold, keeping him close as he cried onto Bill’s shoulder.

Years seemed to pass before Richie pulled away, his eyes red and puffy but all dried out, and he sheepishly rubbed his fingers over the large wet stain on Bill’s shoulder, his tears turning the light fabric of his shirt dark, like a large ink splodge.

“Sorry.” His voice was hoarse but he chuckled half heartedly, pointedly avoiding Bill’s gaze.

He jerked when he felt a warmth over his hand, and before he knew what was happening, Bill was pulling him up from his stool and out of the bar into the cold street.

They walked in silence. Richie allowed Bill to pull him through the sea of people, noting the way his grip tightened on his hand when they pushed past a particularly large group of people. Their journey lasted all of ten minutes, and it barely registered in Richie’s brain that he was being pulled across a tight threshold and into a creaky elevator.

The ride up seemed to last forever, the only sound being Richie’s light sniffles and the creaking gears of the lift. It wasn’t until they came to a clunking stop that Richie realised that Bill hadn’t let go of his hand, and he thought that perhaps he didn’t want him to let go. His brain shut off again until he felt the warmth from over his hand disappear and allowed himself to be pushed down onto a soft sofa.

Bill moved further into the house and all Richie could do was sit there and get familiar with his surroundings. The open space of Bill’s apartment was warm and cosy and _him._ None of the furniture matched, from the threadbare rug to the mustard yellow armchair, yet it was all placed with such an intent and such a purpose that it all fit together. Pictures littered the room, mainly pencil drawings and movie posters, but the odd photograph caught Richie’s eye. One in particular grabbed his attention, a yellowing affair of a young boy, maybe around twelve at the oldest, in the arms of someone older, and Richie could tell instantly that it was Bill from the twinkle in his eye and the kind curve of his lips.

“That’s m-my brother.”

The sudden voice made Richie jump, eyes tearing away from the photograph to Bill, where he stood with two mugs in his hand. Managing to look sheepish, he accepted the mug from Bill.

“You look alike.” he rasped, offering Bill a small smile.

This seemed to brighten up Bill even more, and they sat in comfortable silence as they drank, but he could feel Bill’s heavy gaze on him. An eternity seemed to pass between them until Bill finally spoke.

“Y-you don’t have to tell me an-anything,” he started, his voice steady but his eyes soft, “I-I don’t expe-ect you to. But d-d-damn it Richie, I don’t wanna see you sad.”

He didn’t know whether it was the leftover whiskey in his system, or Bill’s eyes or even the fact that he was unfathomably, irrevocably, undeniably lonely, but his lips found Bill’s, and he was soft and pliant but hard and rough and Richie could feel every one of his nerve endings on fire.

He pulled back suddenly, remembering himself, remembering Stan’s words and Bill stared at him, lips red and wet and soft. “I’m- _shit,_ I’m sorry. I should ju-”

He never got to make his gracious exit, though, as Bill’s lips were back on his, his arms pushing him back down onto the sofa. Their lips fit together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, their bodies melding together and moving in sync. Richie bent his leg to allow Bill to rest in the cradle of his hips as they kissed, Bill’s tongue darting out to lick at Richie’s bottom lip.

A sigh left his lips as he opened his mouth, allowing Bill’s tongue to slide against his own, licking and pulling a moan out of him. It was slow and gentle, yet firey and hot and it was everything Richie hadn’t felt in years. Richie broke it off again, but instead of trying to escape, he peppered light kisses down Bill’s jaw, nibbling on his neck and revelling in the short gasps leaving the taller boy’s lips. His hips keened up in interest when Bill moaned, Richie’s lips stumbling across a particularly sensitive spot on Bill’s neck and went to town on it, grazing his teeth across it and sucking a dark mark there.

His ministrations were interrupted by a sharp tug to his hair, lifting his face from Bill’s neck, and Bill’s lips were back on his and Richie moaned against them, his hands tugging Bill’s shirt out of his pants.

“D-d-do you wanna stay?” Bill asked him, breaking their kiss.

Richie knew he should say no, knew he should walk out of the door and hand his findings in, taking his money and never look back. But Bill, Bill with his kind eyes and his kiss swollen lips and his strong arms, was worth more than a stranger in a fancy hat.

Richie was going, he was leaving, he wasn’t about to start something that he couldn’t finish-

“Yes.”

And with that, Bill sat up, pulling him with him and looping his legs around his waist, and stood from the couch, lifting Richie, and carried him through the apartment, and Richie knew, fully and wholly, he was fucked. Again.

Yet, it didn’t stop him from allowing Bill to lay him down on his messily made bed, and it didn’t stop him from allowing Bill to peel his clothing off him and place kisses to the new skin he exposed until Richie was naked, spare his underwear, and was squirming under Bill’s touch.

Richie pulled Bill down by his blue cotton shirt, connecting their lips in a fierce kiss, revelling in the moan that left Bill’s lips when Richie tugged his bottom lip between his teeth. Bill quickly sat up, breaking their kiss and Richie almost whined at the loss, but it quickly died in his throat when Bill tugged the shirt over his head and Richie became very distracted by the light definition of his abdominal muscles and the smattering of red hair leading from his belly button down below the waistline of his trousers. Leaning forward, Richie made light work of the button and the zipper, quickly reaching his hands down Bill’s pants to cup him over his underwear.

“F-Fuck.” Bill’s breath caught in his throats his hands gripped at Richie’s hips, but he soon removed himself from over Richie to remove both his pants and his underwear in one fell movement.

Richie’s mouth watered at the sight of Bill, red and hard, but he didn’t have much time to linger before Bill was over him again, biting over his neck and his chest, leaving purple bruises in his wake.

It didn’t take long for Bill to work two fingers inside of him, scissoring Richie open while he shifted restlessly on the bed, panting heavily until a cry was ripped from his throat when Bill hit Richie’s prostate dead on, an intense heat coiling in the pit of his stomach.

“Fuck, Bill, please-” he groaned as Bill slipped in another finger, stretching him even more

“P-please what?” he teased, bowing his head to like a stripe over one of Richie’s nipples, and Richie couldn’t stop his back from arching into the heat of Bill’s mouth.

“S-shit, just fuck me, please!” he whined, his voice raspy and needy.

Bill shuddered at his words and removed his fingers. Richie moaned sadly at the loss, but he didn’t have to wait long as Bill pulled the rubber over his cock and slowly started to push into Richie.

Their moans mingled sinfully in the sweaty heat of the small bedroom, and Richie met Bill thrust for thrust, the springs of the mattress groaning underneath them. Bill leaned down to kiss Richie, and the kiss was so much more tender and soft than the slap of their hips, and if he had time to dwell on it, it would have utterly terrified Richie. He was distracted, however, when Bill pulled Richie’s legs around his waist, thrusting in deeper than before, nailing Richie’s sweet spot with every other roll of his hips, making him see stars. The combination of Bill and the fact that Richie hadn’t had sex in a painfully long time meant that it wasn’t long before he was coming in thick stripes along his abdomen, his vision turning white and his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Bill followed soon after, and he carefully pulled out of Richie and flopped down next to him, his hand swimming the distance between them and curling their fingers together briefly before Bill left the bed on shaky legs, returning a few minutes later with a washcloth to wipe Richie down.

If he wasn’t so blissed out, Richie would have considered running away, but when Bill climbed into the bed and pulled Richie against his chest, warmth spread over Richie’s body and lighted a fire under his skin. Richie would never admit it, but for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was home.

 

* * *

 

 

Light streamed in through the thin nylon curtains, pulling Richie from his slumber with a whine. Sleep had come easily to him that night, and he briefly wondered why until he felt his pillow move, and he realised that his head was laying on Bill’s chest, his hand comfortably wound around his midriff. The sensible part of his brain was telling him he still had time to leave before Bill woke up, but he allowed himself to bask in the warmth and serenity he emanated instead. It wasn’t long though before Bill stirred, blinking his eyes in the sunlight and smiling at Richie in a way he didn’t want to think about.

“M-morning,” he croaked, voice gravelly, and his hand came up to push some of Richie’s curls away from his face, and he had no other response than a satisfied hum. Bill sighed, placing a kiss on Richie’s temple. “I’d stay and be your h-human pillow-” Richie hit his chest, “but I’ve got t-to meet a guy about my b-book.”

The intimacy of Bill’s short peck on his head made his heart swell and his stomach drop, but brushed it off as a kind gesture after some pretty mind blowing sex. He mourned the loss of Bill’s heat as he shifted up off the bed, but smirked at the slight stagger in Bill’s walk from the night before. With a sigh, he got up off the bed and dressed himself, grimacing as he realised he’s been wearing the same clothes for the past two days. He was tying his shoes when Bill returned fully dressed, coat hung over his arm and bag over his shoulder.

“I-I was gonna say, you could st-tay if you wh-wanted to.” Richie didn’t miss the pleased smirk on Bill’s lips. Richie shook his head, pulling on his own jacket rather hesitantly.

“I’ve gotta work anyway.” he said, kicking himself at how small his voice was, and followed Bill out of the apartment.

Riding the elevator back down together, he didn’t know if he should be relieved or disappointed when Bill didn’t kiss him again. Instead, he squeezed Richie’s hand, and Richie squeezed back.

“I-I’ll see you ar-round.” Bill said, stepping out into the cold New York morning, leaving Richie reeling in the entryway to the building.

So with that, Richie made his way home, changing into some clean clothes, before heading back to the office.

He was surprised to find the atrium empty, but supposed Bev didn’t expect him back anytime soon, so he made his way up to the office and sat down in his chair, pulling a new manilla folder out from the drawer, scrawling a familiar name on the top before letting his head fall against the desk.

He couldn’t do it. He was in way too deep to be able to do this. He had lost all hope of ever finishing this case when an abrupt nod on the door interrupted his lamenting.

He didn’t even have a chance to grumble a ‘come in’ before Ben was poking his read around the door, Beverly, Mike and Stan in tow. Beverly had tackled him into a hug as soon as she got her foot through the door, and Ben came over to pull her off, squeezing the top of Richie’s arm in the process. Mike came next, giving Richie a smile that flooded his body with warmth, but Stan hung back.

Stan’s eyes were dark, telling Richie outright that he hadn’t had much sleep, and as soon as they met Richie’s they began to fill with tears. Richie thought he might bolt, but before he could, he was standing up and wrapping his arms around Stan’s slight frame, sighing as Stan returned his hug, whispering apologies in his ears and crying onto his shoulder.

“Don’t cry, Stan the Man,” he chuckled, pulling back to wipe at Stan’s face and placing a chaste kiss on his forehead, making Stan send him one of his rare smiles and a dig to his shoulder, and he knew that, once again, everything was right in the world. Well, almost everything.

After sitting back down at his desk, he told his friends everything, about the bar and about the night, and they watched him as he spoke, his eyes never once leaving the picture of Eddie on his desk.

“He’d want you to be happy.” Bev spoke after an elongated silence, her hand covering his own.

“But that’s not the point!” he groaned. “I’ve been paid to case this guy, been paid to find out everything I can about him, it’s not _real._ ” His voice cracked, not wanting to believe the words he spoke, and by the looks on his friends faces, they didn’t believe them either. “I’ve got to give this woman everything I’ve found out tomorrow, and then what? We just keep sleeping with each other? I don’t think so.”

He sighed, gripping back Beverly’s hand, ignoring her pleading look. “It meant nothing.”

“R-really?”

The voice was so small that Richie almost missed it, but Richie’s heart shattered when he realised who it belonged to. Bill stood at the door, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Why was he-?

“What are you doing here?” Richie asked, his voice coming out harder than he expected and he winced at the contortion of Bill’s face.

“I-I was supp-posed to met B-Ben The people at the libr-rary said I c-could find him h-here.” His eyes briefly drifted to the man in question before shifting back to Richie. “Y-you’re investigating me?” His voice was small and quiet and it shattered Richie’s heart.

“No, Bill.” he pleaded moving around the table to stand in front of the man, grabbing his hand before taking a deep sigh. “At first, y-yes. But that was before I got to know you! I- I didn’t mean to feel the way I do about you.” Bill’s eyes searched his before he pulled his hand from Richie’s grip, his gaze growing cold.

“D-did I mean anything to you?”

Richie gaped at him, his voice lowering.

“Of course you did, Bill.” he whispered, tears prickling at his eyes as he stared into Bill’s eyes. They once reminded Richie of the sky in June: bright and sunny and carefree. But now, they reminded him of the sea: treacherous, unpredictable, and they filled him with dread.

The silence between them was deafening, and Richie didn’t even care that they had an audience, his sole focus on Bill. He thought for a moment that Bill believed him, that they could forget everything and pick up where they left off, but any of his remaining hope was quashed when Bill took a step back.

“Go fuck yourself, Richie.” he spat, leaving the office and leaving Richie.

He wasn’t sure who held him first, but before he knew it, he was wrapped in three pairs of arms while Ben had shuffled out after Bill, and Richie stared at the spot where he had been stood, not trusting himself to speak.

He stayed with Mike and Stan that night, neither boy trusting him to stay at home by himself, but sleep never claimed him. Instead, he stared up at their ceiling, hyper aware of the way the springs of the couch dug into his back, counting along with the tick-tock of their wall clock. He left before they woke, lightly closing the door behind him and hailed a cab after waiting for one to turn up on the desolate road.

When he finally flagged one down, he told the driver the address he had been contemplating all night, staring out of the window as they passed through the city.

Richie had royally fucked up, that much was true, but why was he so bothered about it? He had done the whole casual sex thing, and while it had made him crave somebody more than he thought he did, he found it exceptionally easy to walk away and forget, their names only relevant when he was screaming it out in the throes of half assed pleasure. Loss had hardened him to the outside world, made him cynical to the inner workings of the heart, yet his felt like it was breaking every time his mind lingered on russet red hair or the smell, or every time he caught a whiff of the intoxicating scent of violets and musk that Richie had allowed himself to become engulfed in only the night before. He didn’t have much time to contemplate this, however, as the driver pulled up at their destination.

After handing the driver a handful of change and exited the car, he made his way up the winding drive of the house, and before he knew it, he was knocking on the door.

“Mr. Tozier?” Audra’s voice was confused yet still refined as she opened the door.

“Bill Denbrough’s a writer.” he started, interrupting her as she opened her mouth to speak again. “He’s just released his debut novel and it’s good, _really_ good. His birthday is January 4th and he has one younger brother. He takes honey in his tea and insists he doesn’t drink coffee because he thinks it’s bad for him, but the truth is he doesn’t like the taste. His favourite colour is blue, he draws in his spare time and he hates people who say they’re something they’re not. He’s kind and he’s good and he’s too generous for his own good, and he’ll be holding a signing at Penny’s bookstore tomorrow at noon. I don’t want your money, I want you to promise me something.” He didn’t wait for her response, taking her wide eyes as his cue to continue, his voice thick with unshed tears.

“Look after him, be kind to him.” he said, and he had no self respect left to wipe away the tear that rolled down his cheek, nor be ashamed at the way his voice broke.  “ _Love_ him.”

And with that, Richie turned around and walked away.

 

* * *

 

He tried to stay away, really, but the need to see Bill was overwhelming. The short path to the bookstore had been calling him all day, and as noon approached, Richie found himself walking it, alone this time.

He didn’t have to enter the shop to see him though, as he rounded the corner to the street the store lay on a few minutes before noon. Bill was loading a cardboard box out of the back seat of a taxi, and he would’ve gone over to speak to him if it hadn’t been for the petite figure in a dark coat knocking into Bill before he could. Audra’s hand wrapped around his arm, and she giggled as his free arm came to her waist to steady her as she teetered in her heels.

Richie’s work here was done, he supposed, and the turned and walked away, missing the way Bill’s eyes honed in on Richie’s retreating form as he retreated back to his old life, a life full of solitude and sadness: a life without Bill.

 He stayed in his office for the rest of the day, accepting watery cups of coffee from Bev and absently filing things away in random drawers. There was no excuse for why his heart ached the way it did. Richie had been given an opportunity to love, one he had royally fucked up, and that’s all he got. Fate didn’t do second chances. Destiny had put him and Eddie together, and he thanks God every day that it did, but it also ripped them apart. Nobody could replace Eddie, and he didn’t want anyone to try to, but over the past few days, he found himself thinking about making a life with Bill, about waking up with him and falling asleep with him, about spending their days in the coffee shop, about kissing him whenever he wanted to. He thought about making a new life for himself and starting afresh, and allowing someone to patch up the gaping hole in his heart, left by Eddie’s death.

But that wasn’t fair to Bill. His soulmate was out there, was probably with her right now, and it wasn’t fair for Richie to drag Bill into his fantasies that were fueled by lonely nights and unsolicited sympathy. He had Audra now, and she seemed like a decent person. Perhaps she would be everything that Bill wanted. Perhaps they would spend hours talking in their coffee shop, just as they had. Maybe they would tell each other things nobody else knew in the dead of night, naked skin touching naked skin, just as they had. Perhaps they wouldn’t fight like they had.

No, he had to forget about Bill Denbrough, and he had to do it quickly before he allowed the dark cloud of guilt and an easy way out settle over him again.

Abandoning the paperwork he had tried to do, he pulled on his coat and left his room, climbing down the stairs to the cold foyer. He had to get out of this office, go home, and start forgetting.

That’s easier said than done when the man he was trying to let go was stood on the street, reaching to open the office building door as Richie pushed it open.

“R-richie,” Bill said, his voice even and enquiring, his eyes wide and inviting, but Richie had to get away.

“Don’t, Bill.” Richie warned as he pushed past Bill into the street, cursing as a raindrop hit him square on the top of the head. The rain started to pour freely, and it took every fibre of his being not to turn around to face Bill. His heart screamed at him to fall into Bill’s arms, to confess everything, to tell him how he truly felt, but his head said no. It was his heart that got him into this mess in the first place, anyway, he wasn’t going to let it get him into another one.

Bill hadn’t spoken, and he took it as a sign to walk away, away from Bill and away from his last chance at _something._ He had to heal a broken heart once before, he’s sure he could do it again; He’d get over Bill Denbrough very easily, and one day, hopefully, he’d look back at it and laugh. This he hoped, until a voice pierced the silence between them, echoing off the pavement and buzzing in Richie’s ears.

“It’s you, Rich.”

Richie’s heart all but screamed when he turned around to face Bill, the shattered pieces in his chest gravitating towards each other, trying to stick themselves back together. He was shivering, the rain gluing his hair to his forehead and his shirt almost see through because of it.

Bill’s arm was held out in front of him, sleeve rolled up to his elbow, inviting Richie to look at it. He took cautious steps before he finally came close enough to take Bill’s hand in his own, turning it over.

Time seemed to stop, and Richie isn’t sure if the ground was shaking or if it was just him, but there, on Bill’s wrist, in writing as red as his lips, was Richie’s name. He couldn’t stop staring at it, his heart in his throat, his thumb rubbing over the raw scar.

“W-we didn’t have the s-s-same mark.”

Bill’s words grounding him, Richie let go of his arm to pull up his own sleeve. There, underneath the faded mark that read Eddie Kaspbrak, lay a new name, pink against his pallid skin, and it was Bill’s.

The slate wash of the mid afternoon sky and the relentless downpour did little to diminish the soar of Richie’s heart. It beat relentlessly against his chest and the sheer force of it made him feel dizzy, but it didn’t stop Richie saking a determined stride forwads

He wrapped his arms around Bill’s neck, pulling him down into a bruising kiss, full of teeth and full of words Richie didn’t trust himself to say just yet. Bill caught him easily, returning his kiss with a burning enthusiasm, and Richie felt like his small, broken life was finally slotting into place underneath Bill’s hands.

Looking back on it now, he realises two things: second chances are few and far between, and that once you get one, you can’t under any circumstances screw it up. He never felt like he was forgetting Eddie when he fell in love with Bill. Instead, he felt like, in a small way, he was honouring him. Eddie had taught Richie to love and how to be loved in return, and Richie taught those lessons to Bill with vigorous enthusiasm and patience. There were still pieces of Eddie around his flat, but if Bill minded he never showed it: Eddie was Richie’s past but Bill was indeed his future. He fit so perfectly into his life, getting along perfectly with his friends and even admitted to finding Stan’s sardonic remarks endearing. They woke up with each other every morning and fell asleep together every night, and Bill’s presence was just as unwavering as his kisses.

Yes, life seemed to have beaten Richie until he was black and blue, but with Bill’s head on his chest while he reads, occasionally drawing light shapes into Richie’s arm, with all the time in the world on their hands, Richie decides that, yes, the world had done him in, but it was Bill who had picked him back up again, and he wasn’t planning on letting him go any time soon, not even if fate had anything to say about it. Not on his watch.

 

**Author's Note:**

> come and say hi on tumblr @d-nbroughs ! <3


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